Do ghosts ever go back to their hometowns?

I never feel my grandma in our hometown.

Not at Larry’s shoes or the old Foley’s.

Not even by the railroad tracks or Frasier st.

Once in Arizona, she spoke to me through another person’s reading.

I haven’t forgotten about you.

Back home. I walk to the store for a pecan praline,

No suede coat or brim hat.

No cane, no opal, no gold jewelry.

Once in Seattle, a pair of twins insist that she has something urgent to say.

Don’t forget about family.

In our hometown, I stop by to see Kim and Mike and Sue.

Her absence is so apparent. If she were around our 

funerals wouldn’t be bonfires put on by biker gangs.

Last night, as I showered outside under the full moon in LA.

We spoke together with lightning tongues. 

How is everyone?

Have you visited home?